In the morning babygirl likes to lean against my still shrinking tummy. Her hands clutch the sheets as she pulls them to her mouth and twists them around. Periodically she stretches out her soft, pink legs and gives them a quick kick. She chatters simple syllables, grunts and squeals as she pulls and twists on the flowered sheet. I watch her and contemplate my life which has become our life and my role as a parent. I hope that from my reflective state I will come to some universal understanding. Through the milky, white light that comes through the lace curtains I look through the window that needs washing and beyond to the dark silhouettes of the trees who have watched my life unfold. I consider where I have come and wonder where I am going. My attention turns back to my daughter. Her grunts are emphatic now and I realize she wants milk. I pick her up and place her to my breast. Her mouth is open, like a baby birds, anticipating and she latches on. She is pink perfection. I realize I can only give what I have. Parenting is really about self~realization.
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